Acts of Sacrifice
by chaletian
Summary: A series of stories written after AHBL, with extra B5 title challenge. Dean's year is up and his time has come. 6 - And it comes full circle.
1. The Deconstruction of Falling Stars

**Acts of Sacrifice**

**I – The Deconstruction of Falling Stars**

**by Liss Webster**

**A/N: This series was written after All Hell Breaks Loose, so is AU for seasons 4 and 5.**

"It's a good night for the stars." The voice, not entirely unexpected, comes from behind him, but Dean doesn't look around.

"Never had much interest," he says gruffly, shifting over slightly as Jo sits down next to him. He doesn't look at her, remains flat on his back looking up at the sky. It had been warm – is still warm – but the ground is cooler now, and he rests his palms on the gritty soil, trying to feel connected.

"There's the Big Dipper." Jo points, and then leans back on her elbows.

"Ursa Major."

"I thought you weren't interested."

"I wasn't. Didn't stop Sammy." Jo laughs, quietly. The sound blows away too quickly.

"He's going over some stuff with Bobby and Mom."

"He won't find anything."

"No." They sit, silently, looking at the stars, until Dean eventually glances at her.

"D'ya bring me a beer?"

"Yeah, Dean, I don't do enough fetching and carrying in my actual job, I like to do it in my off time too." He raises an eyebrow, and she, in turn, rolls her eyes. "What?"

"Well, did you?"

"No." They both lie back down. It's dark and warm and quiet. Peaceful. Just the earth and the stars and the air in between.

"Are you scared?" Jo's voice is soft, the voice you use when you're not sure the other person will answer.

"No." She doesn't say anything, just waits. "I don't know. Maybe. A little."

"Sam might still…"

"No, he won't. I don't want him to."

"Dean…"

"No, Jo." He sits up now, twists around so he's looking out at the blurred hills and starlit sky. "I'm not crazy. I don't want to die. But…"

"Better you than Sam?"

"It's what I do." The words are steady, but his voice begs understanding.

"It's not what you do," corrects Jo gently. "It's who you are."

"Whatever. You get it, right?"

"Yeah, I get it."

"And you'll make sure Sam…"

"We'll look after him."

"I know." Dean lies back down again. It's getting colder now, the sky darker than it was. "Those're the Seven Sisters, right?"

"Pleiades. What are you going to do? Tomorrow, I mean." Dean shrugs, the leather of his jacket dragging over the ground.

"Drive."

"Where?"

"Does it matter?"

"Guess not."

"I'll just… drive. I like driving. Hey, Jo?"

"Yeah?"

"D'you wanna… y'know…"

"Dean Winchester, are you suggesting that I give you a pity fuck?"

"Hey, it's not every day a guy gets to use the 'I only have one day left to live' line."

"About that line?"

"Yeah?"

"It's really not a winner."

"OK." The wind has picked up. Somewhere, in the distance, there comes the sound of a car starting. "Is that a no?"

"Yeah, Dean, it's a no." Jo laughs, but the laugh suddenly breaks, and she jumps to her feet, gesturing towards the sky. "There should be a shooting star. Really, there should be. It's just… this is the kind of night when there should be one." She's cold, rubbing her hands up her arms. Dean sits up, looks at her. Sees the dusty soil coating the back of her jeans and her sweater and her hair straggling out of its ponytail. He struggles out of his jacket, hands it to her.

"No shooting stars," he says, and Jo takes the jacket, puts it on, tries not to cry. No shooting stars. No sudden solution. No hope.

"I wanted a shooting star," she says, and tries to smile at him. He hugs her, quickly, brusquely.

"Go back in. I'm going to sit out here a while."

"I'll bring you a beer."

"No. It's OK. I'll just… I'll be out here."

oOo

There's a shooting star the next night. Jo sits outside, watches it blaze and fall, clutches the jacket closer around her. There's a shooting star, but it's too late.


	2. Confessions and Lamentations

**Acts of Sacrifice**

**II – Confessions and Lamentations**

**by Liss Webster**

**A/N: This series was written after All Hell Breaks Loose, so is AU for seasons 4 and 5.**

"I stole Amy Henderson's panties." Dean Winchester had been sitting outside, silent, thoughtful. He hadn't heard his brother. He hadn't expected a declaration like that.

"What the fuck?"

"Amy Henderson's panties. I stole them. I just wanted to say, y'know, sorry." Sam stands over him, wild hair buffeted this way and that by the wind. He looks about twelve. If, y'know, he was a twelve-year old giant.

"Amy Henderson? Who… Dayton. Junior year." Dean nods, then realisation dawns. "Wait, that was you?"

"Yeah."

"Dude! Do you know the crap I got over that? She had the entire damn school thinking I was some kind of fetishist weirdo."

"Like I said, sorry."

"They had a banner."

"Yep."

"They had a _song_."

"Yep."

"That was you?"

"I didn't write the song."

"But you stole the panties."

"Yep."

"And without the panty-stealing, there would have been no song."

"Prob'ly not, no."

"Dude. You suck."

"I was eleven."

"So? You still suck."

"Well. Sorry."

"Amy Henderson's _panties_? What the hell was that about?"

"I can't find anything, Dean."

"Did you have some freakish underwear fetish?"

"I mean, I've looked… I've looked everywhere, man. There's nothing."

"God knows, you were basically a girl growing up, but _this_ goes way beyond…"

"Dean! Shut UP!" It's late, well after midnight, and the warm evening has turned cold, the hard black sky stamped with stars. There's no-one around, just Dean and Sam. Dean and Sam Winchester, by themselves. And Sam Winchester is angry.

"OK. But, dude, you brought up Amy Henderson's panties."

"I just didn't want… Dean. Please. Tell me this isn't it." Dean looks at Sam, sees the boy he fought with and plotted with and raised, and the man he became.

"You should get a hair cut."

"Dean—"

"I mean, I know you've got this whole hair thing after Dad and his marine buzzes, but seriously, dude, you look like a yeti."

"Dean—"

"I need to know you're going to look after yourself, Sammy." Dean's voice is soft, low, and Sam realises numbly that at some stage in the next five minutes he's probably going to start crying and Dean will take the piss out of him for… Dean won't be taking the piss. Not ever. Dean carries on. "Cuz if you go and fall off a bridge or starve to death or get suffocated by your hair in your sleep, I'm gonna be mad. You owe me, Sam."

"I don't…"

"You _owe_ me. So I need you to promise that you're not going to do anything stupid – or more stupid than usual – when I'm… Nothing stupid, OK?" Sam laughs. It's pretty weak for a laugh, but better than crying.

"Dean. Seriously. When it comes to stupid things, it's really not me who's the problem." Dean cocks his head to one side, consideringly, then pulls a conciliatory expression.

"Well, maybe. But, Sam…"

"I promise. OK? I promise I won't do anything stupid! I promise I won't get myself killed! I promise I won't make any stupid fucking deals! I promise, Dean!" Dean looks like he wants to say something, or do something, or hit something, but in the end he just shrugs.

"Well. OK then."

"OK."

They stand, staring at the horizon. Sam crosses his arms, wishes he had brought his coat. Dean wishes he hadn't given his jacket to Jo, then thinks maybe it's all right that he did. It's cold and crisp and dark, and Sam's crying.

"Don't, Sammy." They don't hug. Winchesters don't hug. It's not their thing. It's not how they were raised. But Dean slides a hand along Sam's shoulders and pulls him close. Sam bends his head, and his tears fall against Dean's neck. Dean wishes… he wishes… he wishes so many things that he can't even bring them all to mind. Everything. Anything that took them away from this moment, Sam's tears soaking hot into his collar; his hands cold against his brother's back.

oOo

"I stole Amy Henderson's panties." The Impala doesn't talk back. Sam thinks maybe her soul has gone. But he thinks he'll keep talking to her anyway.


	3. Passing Through Gethsemane

**Acts of Sacrifice**

**III – Passing Through Gethsemane**

**by Liss Webster**

**A/N: This series was written after All Hell Breaks Loose, so is AU for seasons 4 and 5.**

Sometimes, as night gives way to dawn, and the silvery fingers of a new day inch across whichever motel room he's in, Dean wonders if he's being a coward. If he's just giving in when he should fight. Is he wrong to make no challenge? It's not like he wants to die. He said, once, that he was tired, but that was then and this is now and he doesn't want to die. Sam's looking for a way. He tries to hide it but, dude, come on. Dean's not stupid and Sam's not exactly the poster child for subtle.

It's at this point of the nocturnal conversation that Dean knows it's not about cowardice or surrender. It's about looking out for his family. That's what it's about, that's what everything's about. Not just for Dean, for the Winchesters, but for everyone. It's having people you love and who love you, and keeping them. Keeping them safe. That's what matters. That's what's important. Dean doesn't want to die, but he has to keep Sam safe, and he's OK with that.

The last day, he drives away.

He doesn't know where he's going. He doesn't know how it's going to go down. He doesn't know if it'll hurt. He doesn't know how it works, not really. But he knows they'll come for him, and he doesn't want that to happen anywhere near the people he loves.

The Impala races along the road, smooth as silk, and Dean rubs the steering wheel with his thumbs. He's had this car since he was eighteen; it has been in his family for as long as he can remember. He knows it's just a car. A machine someone made, forty years ago, that's been driven by more people than he knows about. Doesn't matter. He loves her. The way she smells, the way she sounds. She is freedom and home. He hopes Sam will appreciate her. He sucks at car care, but maybe she'll understand.

He drives on and on, and the sun gradually disappears. Dean thinks suddenly, maybe they've got the day wrong. Wouldn't that be embarrassing, skulking home, asking for pie. Going through it all again. Nah, that wouldn't be fair. He'd find a motel, stay the night. Or, no. Just drive. Carry on driving. It's not running away, cuz it doesn't matter where he ends up, they'll be there, and that's fine, because it doesn't matter what he does, the end is already written.

He hears growling, growing louder, a counterpoint to the beat of his heart. He checks the glove compartment, checks that Bobby's details are clearly visible, because he needs Sam to get the car back. He should have borrowed one from the yard, but he couldn't bring himself to drive anything else. Not today.

The growling fills his ears, and he pulls over. He thinks maybe he is scared. And he really, really doesn't want to die. Sam, as a kid, really used to piss him off. Families are funny things. But really, they're what it's all about.

oOo

Highway patrol find a vintage black car pulled up on the side of the road, and a middle-aged man, who's at the end of his shift and eager to get home, shines a torch into the window, opens the door, and leafs through the papers in the glove compartment.


	4. Moments of Transition

**Acts of Sacrifice**

**IV – Moments of Transition**

**by Liss Webster**

**A/N: This series was written after All Hell Breaks Loose, so is AU for seasons 4 and 5.**

Hell had come to get him, and Dean Winchester had gone willingly. It hadn't hurt, not like he was expecting. Maybe the pain came with resisting. Or maybe it came later. Later than this, anyway. Dean hadn't quite been expecting this. It was a waiting room. He didn't think it was an actual waiting room in an actual place. This was gonna be some kind of freaky metaphysical thing, he could tell. He wondered where the hell fire was.

The door opened, and the two hellhounds who had collected him from the side of the road wandered in. Seeing him, they came over to where he sat, his feet fidgeting with the scuffed linoleum.

"Hey there," opened one. "Folks here looking after you all right?" Huh. Who knew the hell hounds had manners? Actually, who knew the hell hounds could _talk_?

"Uh, yeah. I'm just, y'know, waiting." The other hell hound nodded solemnly.

"It's all the paperwork, dude. Hereafter's got bureaucracy like you would not believe."

"It's those damn fool administrators," complained the first hell hound, settling himself on the seat next to Dean's and pulling his cap low over his bristling forehead. "Can't be just havin' us do our jobs. Hell, no! They've gotta have things signed in trip-li-cate, and filed in a bunch of different places."

"Now c'mon, boys, you leave Dean be!" The receptionist, who had been monitoring the conversation from her desk, sashayed over, casting a blinding smile on Dean. "Jed, I've had Dolores from Dispatch in my ear wanting to know where you are." The hell hound with the cap started grumbling about being under constant surveillance, but the other one just – was that _blushing_? Was that what a blushing hell hound looked like? Huh.

"Dolores was asking… she wanted to know… Y'know what, Mort, I think I might just groove on down to Dispatch, see what's got her all worked up. Later!" He disappeared. Mort tugged his cap again and shook his head.

"Damn idiot. Like any fool couldn't tell what's got Dolores all riled up." He shook his head a little more, and then turned to Dean. "I gotta say, Dean, I'm glad we finally ended up with you."

"Hey listen, man, wish I could say likewise, but…" Mort flapped a paw.

"Aw, I know. But you've caused us quite a bit of trouble, boy, and I for one am relieved that it's all been sorted out. Now, it's kinda hard, I know, but Candace here's goin' to write up yer paperwork, and I'll take ya Downstairs." The receptionist, whom Dean assumed to be the Candace writing up his paperwork, appeared again, clutching a file and looking a little apprehensive.

"Hey, Mort? About that paperwork?"

"Shucks, Candace, you finished with that already?"

"Yeah. About that." She held out the file. It was the simple buff kind, thick with paper. The only noticeable feature was a large white sticker on it. Dean had no idea as to its significance, but it seemed as if Mort did.

"God_damn_it! Candace! When did this happen? Why can't those meddlin' lawyers keep their fingers out of my business?" He jumped to his feet, and flung his cap on the floor. Candace smiled sympathetically and patted his arm.

"It's tough luck, Mort. I'm real sorry."

"Well, _hell_." He scowled at Dean. "You're the bane of my life, boy. Bane. Of. My life." He left, grumbling. Candace sat down in his place, and patted Dean's knee.

"Don't you pay no attention to Mort. He's been having a bad year."

"It doesn't seem like I'm his favourite person right about now."

"Oh, he's just ornery. You've been causing no end of trouble down with the hell hounds."

"Well, I am deeply sorry to hear that." Dean's voice was dry, and Candace giggled.

"Anyway, Mort's mad cuz your case has gone up for special consideration."

"Spec- I don't… What's that?" Candace arrayed herself more comfortably, cleared her throat, and dragged her spectacles down from where they rested on top of her vertiginous hairstyle.

"Well, as I'm sure you know, Dean, when you finalized the Soul Exchange Compact with Toby, aka "The Crossroads Demon", pursuant with section two of the Crossroads Deal Protocol of 1124 AD, and amendments thereof ratified in 1547, 1649 and 1903, you agreed that you would give up your soul in exchange for your brother's," she checked her notes, "Samuel Winchester's life. That's correct?" She raised her gaze expectantly, and Dean looked at her blankly.

"Er, yeah. I guess. I didn't know it got quite so technical."

"Oh, we're very clear on the rules and regulations here in the Hereafter," she assured him.

"That's just great. Look, Candace, I appreciate everyone being so… nice, but I made a deal, Sam's safe, I'm here, so… let's just, y'know, get on with it. Take me to Hell. Or whatever."

"Oh, _Dean_!" Her expression changed, and he looked at her, ever so slightly alarmed.

"Yeah?"

"That is just the sweetest… Oh, darlin', that's what the SC hearing is for. Sacrificing yourself for your family… well, that gets looked on pretty favourably by the guys upstairs. And I gotta tell, there's one heck of a lobby rooting for you. Those guys have really been putting the pressure on the Administration."

"Lobby?"

She smiled, and patted his cheek. "I think you know who."

"Dad?" His voice was almost disbelieving. "M-mom?"

"And a whole heap of others. Look, Dean," she leaned forward confidingly, "I shouldn't say this – I mean, I'm supposed to stay neutral, an' all – but I reckon they've got a good chance of invalidating that pesky contract."

Dean's eyes lit up, and he leaned forward in his turn. "Invalidating it? That would be… No, wait! They can't do that!"

"What? Why not?" Candace looked confused. "Dean, this is a good thing. Unless you _want_ to spend the rest of _eternity_ in Hell? And trust me, honey, you really don't want that!"

"Sam. What about Sam?"

"Nothing will happen to Sam. I prom--" The telephone rang, and she broke off, shooting a sympathetic glance at Dean before returning to her desk. Dean couldn't hear her side of the conversation, but it only lasted a couple of minutes. She scribbled in his file for a few moments, then handed out a sheet of paper with a flourish. It was pink, the bottom from a pile of triplicate paper, faint grey marks instead of the firm black strokes that covered the yellow sheet on top of his file.

"You need to go hand this to the Recording Officer," she said, waving it at Dean as he didn't take it. "He's right down the hall."

Dean took the pink paper gingerly. "What is it?" Candace smiled, wide and genuine.

"Dean, sweetheart, it's your ticket home."


	5. A Late Delivery From Avalon

**Acts of Sacrifice**

**V – A Late Delivery From Avalon**

**by Liss Webster**

**A/N: This series was written after All Hell Breaks Loose, so is AU for seasons 4 and 5.**

It was cold out there by the side of the road. Cold, damp and dark. Fog hung heavy in the air and clung to Dean's clothes and hair. He sneezed, disoriented by his sudden appearance exactly in the place he had disappeared from. He spun in a tight circle, and swore as he realised the Impala must have been towed already. Goddamn Highway Patrol. He kicked at a rock, and headed back down the road, remembering that there was a town less than two miles back.

It was cold and damp and dark, and the fog blurred the world further, so that he seemed to be walking through some crazy-ass dream. Dean wondered if maybe the whole thing was a dream. Had he died? Actually, really, died? Cuz he was pretty sure that was what had happened, but thinking about it now, it seemed a little too freaky. Talking hell hounds? A waiting room with limp-leaved plants and scuffed linoleum, the coffee table filled with out-of-date magazines? What the hell was that about?

It was cold and damp and dark, and Dean rubbed a hand up and down his arm, wishing that he hadn't given his jacket to Jo. The lights of the town suddenly became visible, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief, starting to jog towards them. Please, God, let there be a diner. A diner with coffee and food and a phone. He had left his cell in the car. Good thing he kept his wallet in his pocket.

Two cups of coffee and a slice of pie later, Dean ambled towards the payphone, shoved in a quarter, and dialled Sam's number. Which was, according to the recorded voice, out of service. Huh. He must have misdialled. He tried again, digging into his jeans' pockets for more change. Still out of service. Confused, and not a little worried, Dean tried Bobby's number instead, and was relieved when the phone was picked up and he recognised Bobby's gruff voice.

"Hey, Bobby, it's Dean."

There was a silence. Long and drawn out. Dean realised that since he had driven off that day to die, Bobby might be a little taken aback to hear from him. He grinned. Man, he couldn't wait to see Sam's face when he turned up.

"Dean?"

"Yeah. Look, that whole sacrificing my soul to the devil thing didn't work out quite like I planned."

"Is that right?"

"Yep. Oh, hey – Sam's OK, though, right?"

"Sam's fine."

"Great. Look, Bobby, someone's already towed my car. I'm in—" Dean craned his neck, trying to find some identifying sign from the vantage point of the phone booth, "Cranston. It's, uh, a coupla hundred miles away from you. Can you have Sam come get me? Actually, screw that; can I talk to him?"

"Sam's not here right now, Dean. Any chance you can get here yourself?"

"Oh, come on! I just _died_! Doesn't that get some kind of preferential treatment? I went to _hell_."

"Hell?"

Dean sighed. "OK, not actually hell. It was… I don't know what it was. Weird. There's also the possibility that I may have dreamt it all. Whatever. Seriously, man, I don't want to hitch my way back to you guys."

"Get your ass here, Dean." The phone line went dead. Dean stared at phone, taken aback, and then increasingly worried. Sam. It had to be Sam. Something must have happened. Shit. _Shit_. If Sam had done something stupid because he thought Dean was dead, Dean was going to kill him. Kill him dead. And not some frouffy hanging-around-reading-old-copies-of-People dead. Actual lying-in-the-ground dead. Visions of Sam lying dead in the mud flew through his mind, and Dean relented. OK. Fine. But he was going to kick his brother's girly ass.

It took nearly seven hours for him to hitch his way to Bobby's yard, and the sun had risen, gilding the countryside with a soft, warm glow that seemed to push memories of death and bureaucracy even further into the realm of imagination. Dean had spent the last hour wedged against a door, body twisted like the proverbial pretzel, and after walking another half an hour to finally get to Bobby's he was in a lousy mood. He was cold. He was hungry. He was pissed off that no-one had come to get him – when he was, to all intents and purposes, a returning hero – and pissed off that Sam had apparently gone _insane_ - or something like it, presumably – in the short space of time between Dean's departure and his reappearance.

He slowly climbed the steps up Bobby's porch, and had just raised his hand to knock on the door, when it opened, and he was the less-than-grateful recipient of a face-full of water. Bobby stood in the doorway, unmoving, an empty pitcher in his hand.

Dean spluttered, and swiped the water away furiously. "What the fuck?" He received no answer, and began stripping out of his saturated shirt. "Seriously, Bobby, what the fuck? You make me hitch-hike my way back from some tiny town in the back of nowhere. I am cold. I am hungry. I am now fucking soaking. I am not in the mood for whatever stupid pranks Sammy put you up to because he's pissed off at me."

"You died," said Bobby, heavily, as if Dean hadn't been aware of that himself. Dean flashed him a grin.

" _loved_ me up there. Seriously, dude, there was this one chick, I thought she was gonna, you know, just by talking to me."

"You died." Dean flapped a hand.

"Yeah, didn't take. There was this thing, and some forms, and… y'know, I'm really not sure what happened any more. Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"Firstly, I'm really not in the mood for all this. Secondly, why did you throw holy water over me?" Dean's voice was serious now, his gaze level as he looked at Bobby. He stood tall on the porch, his jeans muddy, the damp plaid shirt in one hand, lines of fatigue creasing his face. Bobby scrubbed a hand through his hair, and looked away.

"Dean…" Whatever he might have said was torn away as a familiar car raced up to the house and pulled to a brutal stop, fishtailing slightly in the gravel. Dean flinched, and jogged down the steps.

"Dude! Have some respect for her!" He cast a brief glance in Sam's direction as his brother leapt out of the car, then ran one hand along the front of the car. "Crap, Sam, when did she get so dusty? What did those Highway Patrol guys do to her?"

"Bobby?" Dean looked up from the slightly scratched passenger door panel to see Sam, edge towards the house, his gaze not moving from Dean. "Is he…?" Sam was standing at the bottom of the steps now, and Dean watched as Bobby reached out a hand, clasped Sam on the shoulder.

"I think that's him, Sam." It was almost painful to watch Sam's expression change, to see wariness and pain turn to hope and relief and a blazing joy. Dean had barely opened his mouth to speak when Sam reached him in three giant steps, and enveloped Dean in the kind of hug he hadn't had since… well, the kind of hug he'd never had. He patted Sam on the back, then gave in and hugged back fiercely. This wasn't an expression of grief, or mourning the loss to come, as their last encounter had been. This was love, and hope, and faith.

"Dude," said Dean roughly, "you are such a girl."

"'M not," denied Sam, stepping back but never fully letting go. "It's just… damn, Dean, it's been…" Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder.

"I know. I'm sorry, Sammy. But hey, it was only a day, right?" He grinned, because he was no longer facing down a year's sentence, and Sam was okay, and they were young and free and, yeah, Sam was kind of weird-looking, but Dean was hot. But Sam didn't grin back, and his hands fell away.

"A day?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I got taken off by hell hounds – and wait until I tell you about _those_ guys, cuz, man, you won't believe it – and then sat around for a bit and then…" He trailed off, taking in Sam's expression, and Sam's face, and the scratches on the passenger door, which hadn't been caused by Highway Patrol. "It's been longer than a day, hasn't it?" Sam nodded, mute.

"Been a while," put in Bobby.

"How much of a while, Bobby? Are we talking, like, a week, or has America colonized the moon?"

"It's been five years, Dean," said Sam, his voice low.

"Fi… No way."

"Dean…"

"It hasn't been five years."

"Yeah, Dean, it really has." Dean pulled a face, his disgust plain.

"Hell, Sam, d'you know what this means?"

Sam looked at him blankly. His brother was back. What else could there be? "Er, no?"

"How old are you?"

"What? Thirty? Wh--? Oh, man."

"Shut up."

"Dean."

"If you want to live another day, you will not say another word."

"I'm totally the big brother."

"Sammy, I'm warning you…"

"Hell, little brother, what're you going to do?"

"Bitch."

Instead of the expected "jerk," Sam reached forward and pulled Dean into another embrace. He had been gone for five years, and right now Sam wasn't going to spend a minute more of their new-found time trading insults. Maybe later. Right now, he was just going to enjoy having his brother back, relish in the feel of warmth and strength under his hands.

"I'm still the big brother." So, _that_ moment was over.

"In your dreams, Dean. You're a midget who's a year younger than I am. It's tough, but you've got to come to terms with it."

"I hate you."

"I'm here to help. Counselling, whatever it takes."

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"I love you, Dean."

"Love you too, dude. Even if you are a girl."

"Whatever."

"And younger."

"Get over it."

"Bite me."


	6. And The Sky Full Of Stars

**Acts of Sacrifice**

**VI – And The Sky Full Of Stars**

**by Liss Webster**

**A/N: This series was written after All Hell Breaks Loose, so is AU for seasons 4 and 5.**

"It's a good night for the stars." The voice, not entirely unexpected, comes from behind her, but Jo doesn't look around.

"Hey, Dean." She's sitting cross-legged, staring out at the horizon. Sam called almost a week ago, but she still isn't used to the news. Dean's back. Dean's alive.

Dean's sitting down next to her.

"Sam call?"

"Yeah." She glances across, grins. "Says he's the oldest now."

"It's gone to his head."

"He's just glad you're back.

"I got that." They sit in the darkness, and Dean wonders if she remembers the last time they did this, or if the five years in between has stolen the memory.

"So, Sam says you got married."

"Yeah. About three years ago. Didn't last."

"Sorry."

"Just one of those things.

"Yeah. I dunno, Jo, it's weird. Everything's five years on, except me."

"We're still the same people we were."

"Really?" There's a pause, a time for thought.

"No, not really."

"That's what I thought."

Dean breathes in, the clear, cold air scything through his chest. He's not sure quite why he came to see Jo. In a way, the last year – six years ago – she'd become sorta like family. Her and Ellen and Bobby. The rest of the hunters he and Sam had finally gotten around to meeting were allies or enemies. A couple had even become friends. But Bobby and Ellen and Jo were something more than that.

"You really used to piss me off," he says conversationally, and Jo laughs.

"Yeah, I know."

Dean looks across, curious. "It was deliberate?"

"No! Well, not the things that _really_ pissed you off. I was a kid, Dean. I wanted… I don't know what I wanted."

"You weren't bad. At hunting."

"Pretty much was. I'm better at research. I rock at research."

"Is that what you do now?" He finds that he honestly wants to know. Bobby is still Bobby, and Ellen has rebuilt the roadhouse – or something like it – but Jo is a mystery to him. Sam had said that she got married, was living in the suburbs, the whole nine yards. It's what Dean had thought she should have – give up her dumb idea of becoming a hunter like her old man, and just live life like normal people. Faced with the reality, he'd thought it was kind of a waste.

"From time to time. If someone needs help."

"Helping's good."

"Never knew you were such a boy scout, Dean." She's laughing at him now, and he grins and ducks his head.

"Aw, Jo, you know that's not me." She reaches out, touches fingers lightly to his cheek, and he looks up. She smiles.

"You kind of always were," she says, and pulls her hand away.

"I—"

"Helping people?"

"It's what we do. Did. Do."

"Do."

He smiles, relieved. "Do. Heh."

"What?"

"We said… nevermind."

She rolls her eyes. "Grow up, Dean." _His_ eyes narrow.

"I'm still older than you, right?"

"What?"

"Oh, god, please tell me I'm still older than you." She toys with the idea of pretending otherwise, just to see his disgust, but decides against it.

"Breathe, Dean. You're still older. Just."

"Well, that's something."

"Sam still giving you a hard time, huh?"

Dean collapses back, lying full length in the dirt. "I may have to kill him."

"Yeah, cuz that's really going to happen." He smiles, and she smiles too, and lies back. They stay there, still, side by side. The sky is midnight dark, stars scattered across the black, thrown by a careless hand.

"I can see the Big Dipper," says Dean eventually, pointing to the constellation.

"Ursa Major," counters Jo, following the line of his finger.

"Yeah. I remember."

They lie there, still, side by side. From the east comes a star, rocketing across sky. It's a shooting star, and Jo reaches out blindly, fumbling in the dark until she finds Dean's arm.

"I'm glad you're alive," she says, so quietly she might almost not have said anything. Dean reaches across and slides his thumb slowly along the back of her hand.

"There's a shooting star."

Jo smiles. "Yeah. There is."

FIN


End file.
